Authors: Cassandra Clark
“You nuns don’t eat enough,” he growled, running his hands over her body while she tried to struggle out of his clutches. “There’s no meat on you.” He brought one hand up and ripped her head covering to one side, then gave a smirk. “Norse, are you?” His own hair was as black as Whitby jet. “I like the look of your lips,” he muttered bringing his face close to hers.
Hildegard brought her hand up to the white neckerchief protruding from under his black beard with the idea of getting a grip on it, but before she could grab hold of it he jerked back. A silver emblem on a chain round his neck slid through her fingers as he uttered a snarl and hit her on the side of the head with the flat of his hand. She turned with the blow and ducked under his outstretched arm.
There was a shout from the direction of the orchard. It was accompanied by a roaring sound like a continuing rumble of thunder. Another stranger appeared pursued by a swarm of bees. Evidently noticing the smoke billowing through the door of the barn where his companion must have set fire to the hay store, he veered towards it and threw himself inside. The bees, stalled in their rage by the clouds of smoke, changed direction and vanished in a whirring cloud towards the woods.
Momentarily forgetting Hildegard, the knight gave a bellow of laughter. “You sot-witted bastard! Why the hell did you touch the bloody hives?”
The man cautiously reappeared in the doorway, coughing and smacking at himself, but instead of replying he merely raised one hand and pointed silently towards the cliff with his mouth dropping open.
From the lip of the ridge the first of the sheep was starting to cascade down the side of the hill towards the grange. The whole flock began to follow. It looked like cream spilling over the rim of a jug. Ever faster and more furious, the sheep kept on coming and within moments the entire yard was engulfed by a sea of rams and ewes and their terrified yearlings.
Hildegard skidded for shelter behind the barn and watched as the yard filled. Soon the stampeding animals were packed tight. They were the long-legged black-faced sheep of the high moors. No harmless pets, they were used to defending themselves against predators and stood waist-high, the rams wielding huge curled horns that could batter a man to the ground.
There were three intruders, she noticed now, and they were caught helplessly in the tide of sheep. The one that had been standing in the relative safety of the barn door had been forced out by the smoke and now he was knocked to the ground, disappearing under the sharp hooves of the seething mass until his companions forced a way through the flock to his aid. It was only with an effort that they were able to haul him to safety by pulling him up by both arms. They dragged him to his feet and set about struggling free of the flock of sheep.
The noise was deafening. It set the intruders’ horses into a panic. Bucking and snorting, they fled, and in moments had vanished among the trees.
With a curse the knight in black ordered his men to get off after them. All three struggled as best they could towards the boundary fence, but the entire flock swept on, taking the men with it, running on down the side of the beck into the woods with Dunstan’s collie dogs yipping at their heels and Dunstan himself striding along with grim purpose in their wake.
* * *
The stable loft was well alight by now. Still chained, Duchess and Bermonda were dimly visible through a haze of smoke when Hildegard entered. She had no option but to run under the burning roof timbers that supported the hayloft to reach them. Wisps of flame fell like feathers over her shoulders. The hounds were rigid with fear. As soon as she slipped their chains Duchess gripped Hildegard’s hem in her jaws and bounded for the open door with little Bermonda scurrying after them.
Hildegard ran her hands over their coats as soon as they were safe outside. There was a smell of burning dog hair. As she straightened the grain store erupted and brought the whole roof down in a great roar of flame.
Agnetha appeared round a corner of the house. She looked aghast at the blazing barn. Her hair was awry and she had a cut on her forehead. With a cry she ran to Hildegard and gripped her by the arms. “Thank Mary in heaven you’re safe!”
“Who were they?” Hildegard demanded.
Cecilia and Marianne emerged from the house. They looked equally dishevelled. Smoke came from inside the kitchen behind them and the roof beams were smouldering.
“Have you seen what those devils have done?” Cecilia marched over to Hildegard, and instead of being frightened as she might well have been she was in a fury of indignation. “They’ve smashed the hives, uprooted the plants, pulled the doors off their hinges and even ransacked your chest in your little chamber, Hildegard. We couldn’t stop them!”
Marianne was fingering a large bruise on her cheek. “They’ve wrecked everything they could lay their hands on!” she confirmed. “Every crock, every pot, every pan. All smashed to smithereens because they couldn’t find who they were looking for!”
Hildegard went cold. “Petronilla?”
The women glanced at each other.
Agnetha stepped forward. “I’m afraid they were after Maud.”
Chapter Three
When the men first appeared their leader had been all smiles, telling the nuns that he only had the welfare of his little kinswoman at heart, but when they failed to offer her up he ordered his men to search the place, if necessary to turn it inside out.
“They even dragged the mattresses off the beds and stabbed their swords into the corn bins,” Marianne said in a disgusted tone. “As if she could have been hiding there!”
“Did any of them wear livery?” Hildegard asked.
The women shook their heads.
Hildegard recalled the emblem on a silver chain worn by the knight in black. It was like the ones worn by the barons’ retainers, but she couldn’t place the symbol. “At least you’re safe. And it was lucky the sheep came down just then,” she added.
Agnetha shook her head. “It wasn’t luck. It was Dunstan’s quick thinking. He was on the ridge and when he heard me shout he realised something was wrong. The flock had already been gathered and he just told his dogs to run the whole lot down at once. When he followed them he said he’d block the dale end to prevent the men coming back—although,” she added, “I doubt whether they’ll bother to return. I think they were eventually convinced Maud wasn’t here.” Despite her words she glanced fearfully towards the woods.
“Did they say anything else?”
“One of them muttered, ‘All this way for bloody nothing.’ He was in a fine rage.” Marianne shuddered.
“Dunstan was magnificent—” Cecilia added.
“He saved us.”
It was obvious the women were in shock. Hildegard listened to them go over things again as she poked among the wreckage. They were right though. Every pot had been smashed. The bench where they sat in the evenings was broken. The vine trellis ripped from its moorings. Plants uprooted. When she looked into the orchard she noticed the upended bee skeps.
Why do that? she wondered. It was sheer malice.
Everywhere the air was thick with smoke.
The house itself had taken the worst of the attack and the thatch on the kitchen roof was smouldering. She went across the yard to have a closer look but there seemed nothing they could do to stifle it.
Agnetha followed. “We emptied the entire water barrel on all the timbers we could reach, but it’s useless in this weather. Everything’s too dry. Then they came back in and stopped us anyway.”
The nearest water source was across the meadow at the stream. The thatch would have to burn itself out. Hildegard brushed her hands over her eyes. It had happened so quickly. She couldn’t grasp it all at once.
A sudden thought struck her, however. Ignoring the women’s warning shouts she ran inside the house and began to feel her way through the smoke until she reached her small chamber at the end of the corridor. Cecilia had said her chest had been rifled, its contents thrown to the floor. It was true.
Rummaging amongst the debris her fingers closed over a small leather bag and she dragged it from the smouldering ashes. Inside the bag was a missal. Small, with a cover of tooled leather, the text on its vellum pages was written in black and red, the capital letters decorated in gold leaf. It was wrapped in a piece of ancient linen embroidered in one corner with a motif of blue borage flowers. Miraculously both seemed undamaged by the smoke. If she possessed anything precious it was here. She rewrapped the missal in the cloth and briefly pressed her lips to the bundle before clawing her way through the smoke. Outside she gasped in great gulps of fresh air.
Agnetha gave her a sharp reproof. “That was foolhardy of you—” She, alone of the others, would know why Hildegard had risked entering the burning house.
Avoiding her glance, Hildegard cast a bleak eye over the ruins. Shame stung her. What had happened was her own fault. In her pride she had assumed she could protect her little community. But she had failed. Hubert de Courcy had been right all along. He had objected to her wish to establish a grange in the wilds, and had only given in because she had been so insistent. But she was wrong, wrong, wrong. She couldn’t protect anyone. Tears stung her eyes.
Miserably she went over to the others. “Roger de Hutton will have to be told what has happened to his property. We had better return to Swyne. We’ll send a message to Castle Hutton when we reach the priory.”
She felt dazed. A year’s work gone in minutes. It was difficult to know what to do next.
“Why don’t we have another look to see what we can salvage?” she suggested. “We have a long walk ahead of us. We’ll need food and drink. I’ll go and fetch the girls. Maud has some explaining to do.”
Grim-faced, she set off across the meadow.
* * *
She reached the bank overlooking the pool. There was no sign of the girls. Then she noticed a bush stir and scrambling down she found them huddled together in a hawthorn brake. When she called they emerged with white faces. Evidently they had risked having a look to see what was going on by climbing to the top of the bank. Now they were both staring with frightened expressions at the burning grange.
Hildegard put a hand on Maud’s shoulder. “So who were they, Maud?”
The girl gave a little shriek and tried to break free, but Hildegard gripped her shoulder more firmly. “Do you know them?”
“I didn’t do anything! I didn’t!”
“It’s all right. Nobody blames you. But we need to know who they are.” Hildegard bent down but Maud gave a sharp cry and, swivelling on her heels, slithered back down the bank towards the stream in evident panic. Hildegard followed. She caught up with her on the edge of the falls.
For a moment the girl struggled, her hood slipping back to reveal her frightened face beneath a tightly tied head scarf, but then she kicked out, giving Hildegard a blow on the shins. Almost breaking free, she teetered on the edge of the pool as if to throw herself in. Hildegard managed to grip the back of her kirtle and pull her from the brink.
Raising her voice above the roar of the waters she asked, “Who are they? You must tell me!”
“Let me go!” Maud shouted above the noise. “I hate everybody! I want to die!”
“I’m sorry you hate us,” Hildegard panted, still gripping hold of the struggling girl, “we don’t hate you—”
“You would if you knew!” she shouted, red-faced.
“Knew what?” demanded Hildegard.
“Nothing…” the girl mumbled, suddenly backing away, her eyes wide with fear.
“What do you think’s going to happen to you? You can trust us.” Maintaining her grip, yet seeing the fear in the girl’s eyes, Hildegard spoke as gently as she could above the roar of the falls. “Tell me, Maud,” she insisted, her voice dropping further with compassion. “We have to know who they are and what they wanted you for, otherwise we can do nothing to help. Whatever it is you are surely forgiven.”
At her tone Maud drew in her breath and when she realised that Hildegard was not going to loosen her grip she began to weaken. She stifled a sob. Soon harsh, dry sounds were being forced from her throat, but she did not speak even now and her eyes remained dry as if the depths of her grief could not be plumbed. She stared fixedly into the trees as if willing herself elsewhere.
Hildegard put a sheltering arm round her shoulders. “My dear little Maud, you’re safe with us. You know that. We’ll do everything we can to protect you.” She felt the hollowness of this remark in the circumstances, but could think of no other way to comfort the child. “It’s best if you tell us what you know so that those men can be found and punished.”
“Nobody will punish them,” the girl muttered. “They’re protected by a great lord. They told us so. I know they won’t be punished.” There was anger as well as heartbreak in her voice.
Hildegard walked her safely away from the water’s edge. “Why would they follow you, Maud? What possible reason could they have?”
Maud scrubbed at her face with her knuckles. More coaxing and the obvious fact that Hildegard was not going to give up without some sort of explanation elicited a small, wounded voice. “They’ll be the men who destroyed our manor,” she began. “I don’t know where they came from.”
“Destroyed your manor?” Hildegard repeated.
“They rode into our vill and destroyed it the way they’ve destroyed your grange.”
“Did you hear them use any names?”
“They all called their leader, ‘my lord.’ He seemed to think he was the king because he said to our fathers when they objected, ‘Do as I say. You’re nothing but bondmen and bondmen you’ll remain!’”
Those were the words King Richard was reputed to have said when the rebels were hanged at St. Albans after the Great Revolt.
“And where did they come from, do you think?” Hildegard asked in a careful tone.
“They said they came from far away … and that they were loyal liegemen … unlike our fathers who…” her voice dropped to a whisper, her words trailing away to nothing.
Hildegard wrapped her cloak round her despite the hot day. The girl was shivering violently. “And then what happened?” she encouraged.
“They said they’d come to put matters right for the barons, then they took our fathers and uncles out of the fields and made them stand on the green and they pretended to have a trial.” She buried her face in the folds of her cloak and her shoulders shook.